Lassiter, After The Big Reveal
by Loafer
Summary: Another take on what happened after Lassie found out about Shules. Takes place immediately after the Season 6 premiere.
1. Chapter 1

_**Lassiter, After The Big Reveal**_

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own _**psych**_ yadda yadda no copyright infringement yadda yadda._

_**Rating**: T, but a touch of semi-M later on. _

_**Summary**: **NOW COMPLETE!** Takes place in the days after the end of the S6 premiere ~ **SPOILER ALERT** if you haven't seen the premiere yet, but it should come as no shock to anyone who watched the end of S5 that Lassiter found out about Juliet and Shawn, and in the opener for S6, doesn't handle it well. (I have a variation on this in **Absence Makes The Heart Wake Up**, but no one minds a little repetition, eh?) (Just smile and nod)_

**. . .**

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X**

. . .

The week had been strained at best; Lassiter knew he had to get a grip on this thing with Juliet. They worked a few cases but there was little talk between them (most of the silence on his side), and he honestly wasn't sure if it could ever get back to normal. If _he_ could ever get back to normal.

Friday after work, he went home and prepared to open up a bottle of Scotch that he'd kept for awhile, but he didn't want to drink. He didn't want to be drunk. He wanted to forget, yes, but not to feel _more_ like crap in the process. Tie off, he was starting to unbutton his shirt when there was a knock at the door.

He was tired enough that he didn't even bother to get his gun, though unexpected visitors were rare and seldom a good sign.

The face on the other end of the peephole was Juliet's. He opened the door, surprised and uncertain. "O'Hara."

She stood in the hall, obviously a little nervous; she must have come straight from the station. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Lassiter stood back and let her pass, and she stopped at the end of his kitchen counter. "What's up?" He wasn't at all sure how he felt about her being here.

"I... I came to apologize." Tugging at her jacket, she wandered to the sofa and sat down, and he reluctantly followed. "Look," she began, lovely blue eyes fixed on his, "you _know_ why I didn't think I could tell you. You and Shawn aren't exactly friendly, and I knew there'd be fallout. You know that." She took a breath. "But you were right. I should have told you anyway."

He studied her. "Yeah, you should have."

"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely regretful. "You were absolutely right that we have to have trust between us, complete trust. We have to have each other's backs and there's no room for secrets like that. None. I should have faced my fears and just told you."

She stared at him, and he nodded, because that was the correct thing to do, yet the tightness in his chest didn't abate.

"And I should have apologized sooner than this. You scared the hell out of me talking about getting a new partner, and I didn't know how to handle that except to get mad, because I felt foolish and I knew I was wrong to have kept this from you. I got defensive."

She leaned in closer, to touch his arm, and Lassiter had to stop himself from retreating.

"I don't want any other partner but you." She smiled hesitantly. "And if you give me another chance, I think we can get past this... uneasiness. Please? I talked to Shawn and he promised to leave you alone. He won't make trouble."

_He will_, Lassiter thought. _That's part of who he is. He has to stir things up, because he can_. "Okay."

Juliet looked a touch hopeful. "Okay? You can forgive me?"

"O'Hara, it's okay." It wasn't, but he had to tell her it was. He extended his hand to shake hers, but she slid down the sofa and hugged him, the scent of tropical blooms filling his head (not peaches, he mused; she changed her shampoo) in the moments she was pressed to him. "It's okay," he said more gently, extricating himself. "I understand. Thank you for telling me. I know I was a jerk about it-"

"You kinda had a right to be."

He half-smiled. "Doesn't make it mature, does it." He stood up, because he could still smell her scent and he needed distance between them.

"There's one more thing." She stood as well, and her nervousness was back. "Did you really tell Shawn you'd kill him if he hurt me?"

Lassiter froze, and kept his voice even. "He told you that?"

"No. He told Gus, and Gus told me." She smiled a little.

"I never specifically said I would kill him." He put more distance between them, but she advanced. "I never even specifically said I'd shoot him. But I won't apologize for warning anyone to take good care of my partner."

Juliet smiled again. "I wouldn't want you to. Gus said Shawn was really rattled."

"Good," he said with satisfaction. "That was the point."

Now she laughed. "Thank you, Carlton. I'm so sorry for not being open with you, and I promise it will never, ever, happen again." She stepped up quickly and kissed his cheek before he could retreat, and headed to the door. "Next week is going to be a lot better than this one. You and I will be back in the game." Flashing a brilliant smile, she waved and was gone, leaving Lassiter touching his cheek where she'd kissed him, already damned sure next week would not be better at all.

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X **

Another week passed. Lassiter did his best to seem 'normal' for Juliet. It was effort every day, effort distracting him from the work they were supposed to be doing. He found himself offering to do paperwork while she went out into the field, offering to run leads by himself. He needed breathing room. He spoke when she talked to him, and smiled when it seemed called for, and things were not better.

On Friday evening, just before Lassiter was about to declare the day over, Spencer bounded in, Gus at his heels. Lassiter was in the corner by the filing cabinet, where the light was bad this time of day, so Spencer must have thought it was safe to do what he did: he swooped in on Juliet over at her desk, dipped her and kissed her. She pushed him off, and Lassiter heard her say "not at work, please," but she was laughing, and clearly not much bothered. Gus moved, blocking the view Lassiter didn't want to have anyway, and the three of them chatted.

He flicked the computer monitor off, picked his coat up, and walked out of the station. Normally he and Juliet would have said good night to each other, but he wasn't waiting around for the chatfest to end, and he sure as hell wasn't interrupting it.

It was a long, dark weekend.

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X **

Karen Vick had just opened her email to see what pressing irritations lay in store for Monday morning when Carlton Lassiter tapped at the door. "Yes, detective?" He came in, and shut the door behind him. _Hmmm_, she thought.

He looked ... _quiet_. His vivid blue eyes were hard to read. He was his usual trim, well-dressed self, but there was a different air about him. She'd seen Lassiter wound up, angry, ready for a fight; she'd seen him sarcastic, polite and obsessed with a case. She'd seen those same blue eyes light up at the mention of the Civil War, of a new weapon, or simply of a fresh cup of coffee. She'd seen him ready to throttle Shawn Spencer, she'd seen him take down gun-wielding suspects, and she'd seen him stand down out of obedience to the law and the greater good even when it went against all his instincts.

But she had never seen him look like nothing mattered anymore.

He sat in the chair opposite her desk, and folded his hands in his lap. "A couple of weeks ago I was in here with O'Hara, asking for a new partner."

"I remember."

"You, for lack of a better phrase, suggested I suck it up and get back to work." His tone held no censure.

"I remember that too," she agreed. "And you two seem to have worked out your issues."

He was very still. "I can't do it anymore, Chief."

"Excuse me?"

"I thought I was only angry that she didn't tell me about Spencer, but it's more than that."

Karen felt a little impatience. "Look, Detective, I know the man is annoying. God knows I've wanted to throw him in jail myself more than once, and police brutality doesn't always seem like such a bad thing at those times. But like it or not, he's here for the duration. He's helped us on more cases than I'd like to admit, and no matter how much you want to - - "

"It's more than that," he repeated, more emphatically.

She sighed. "You and O'Hara are too good a team to let one incredibly irritating man stop you from doing your jobs. I know it seemed harsh for me to tell you to get over your grudge but you're going to have to - -"

"_Karen_."

More than his use of her first name, it was something about his tone—weary, defeated, flat—that got through to her. She looked at him, into those haunted blue eyes, and finally she saw. She understood. And on his behalf, she hurt. "Oh, Carlton," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

He let out a breath. "Yeah. Anyway, I've been thinking about how to solve this problem, and I don't see any option but to remove myself."

"I don't accept that," she said immediately. "I need you here."

"You need _her_ here. She's got a lot more years left in her than I do, and she works well with Spencer, and hell, everyone else."

"You're only 42, Detective; I think there's a lot of years left in you, too."

"Not here," he said wryly. "I thought about asking to move over to narcotics or the gang task force but that's not going to work. A transfer out is the only solution."

"Carlton, no." She heard her own anxious tone. "There has to be a better way."

He stood up, asking simply, "What? What better way?"

She rose too. "Time. Time helps a lot."

"Time _away_ would help more. I can't work with her as long as he's around, and honestly, I'm not sure I'm fit to work with her anyway."

"Fit? My God, you forget who you are. You're my head detective. You've worked with every kind of person on both sides of the law. You made her the cop she is."

He hesitated. "That's how I know you need _her_, and why it's okay for me to move on."

She ran her hands through her hair, unsettled. This was not something she could ever have expected. In the past she had censured him, she had put him in protective custody; she had even taken his badge when he was suspected of murder. But she was totally unprepared for Lassiter in emotional pain.

His blue eyes seemed darker than usual. She wanted to hug him, but didn't dare. That was the mother in her and whether or not he _needed_ that, he didn't need it. He said, "I don't want to seem manipulative but if you can't or won't help me transfer, I'll resign. I'll move out of state and go work for some other police force."

Horrified, she strode around the desk, but he was moving to the door. She put one hand on it to stop him, and her other hand on his arm. "Carlton, wait. Give me some time. A day or two. Let me see what I can do. We need you on the force. On _our_ force. You can't leave over this."

A little half-smile on his face, he said somberly, "I don't want to. But I don't see a choice." He reached for the doorknob again, but she kept her hand firmly in place.

"Have you talked to her?" she asked carefully.

Lassiter shook his head. "There's no point to that either, and I know I don't have to ask you to respect my privacy."

"You don't. But you should tell her, Carlton. And if I can get you a transfer, eventually word will get out. She should hear it from you, and she should hear why."

At that, she could see his internal doors shutting. Slamming. "_No one_ has the right to know _why_, especially when nothing is going to change because of it. I'll tell her I'm leaving when the time comes." He stared pointedly at her hand on the door. "I have work I know you want me to do."

Reluctantly, and still feeling like there must be some way, somehow, against all odds, that she could fix this, Karen dropped her hands, and let him go.

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X **

Juliet knew something was still wrong. It was better, but it still wasn't right. She'd studied Lassiter sometimes when he wasn't watching; she knew his every expression by heart and how the right light in those amazing blue eyes could color everything he said. He was being nice to her. Not so nice that it seemed false or sarcastic, but nicer than usual. More polite. Sincere, but quiet. She knew she was babbling to herself, but the point was this: something was still not right.

She had kept Shawn away as much as possible for several weeks, and had impressed upon him her fervent and gun-backed wish that he simply leave Lassiter alone for awhile. He was irrepressible, but he had mostly complied. When he wasn't eating, thinking about eating, or figuring out how to invade someone's privacy, he mostly listened to her. Sometimes. In his own way. Sort of. Gus said, "Welcome to my world, Juliet."

Juliet sighed, and gathered her purse and keys. She was supposed to meet them tonight for the premiere of a new horror movie, and the timing was crucial regarding transportation, parking, and ticket pick-up. Factoring in snack bar line time, of course. She rolled her eyes thinking about it.

She turned from her desk and ran straight into Lassiter, who stepped back, hands on her arms to steady them both. "I need a word," he said quietly.

"Oh... oh, I'm sorry, I really don't have time. I have to get out of here right now and get across town. I'm already in deeply serious danger of being late. Can it wait?"

"It'll just be a minute." He let her go, and she thought his eyes were especially mesmerizing.

She looked at her watch. "Look, let me call you tomorrow, okay? I really can't - - "

Lassiter's gaze was almost unnerving, and something... sad? She had goosebumps. Not sad. She hated it when he was unhappy about something. _Please don't let this be about me_, she thought, _I can't bear it if I've made him sad_.

For a moment he was silent, and then he simply said, "Okay."

"Carlton." Karen Vick was at the end of the hall and closing the distance. Juliet glanced at her and found her expression odd. She stopped about fifteen feet away.

After a moment, during which Juliet felt increasingly unsettled, Lassiter said more lightly, "Go on, Juliet. It _can_ wait."

"_Carlton_," Karen repeated more urgently, but again, when Juliet looked at her, she didn't seem to be calling to him. She seemed to be warning him. Or... no ... _asking_ him.

Lassiter turned away from both of them, returning to his desk. Vick sighed. Juliet felt frozen to the spot. She had no idea what was going on but Lassiter was obviously willing to put it off, and Vick was already turning back to go to her own office, her body language suggesting her own weariness.

With the clock ticking on about her tardiness, Juliet had no choice but to leave.

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X **

Monday morning, Juliet drove to work with that uneasy feeling enveloping her. She had called Lassiter several times over the weekend, but got no answer; he texted her once to say sorry and he'd get back to her. She was starting to wonder if he was sick. It might explain the _wrongness_, and it might also explain Vick's demeanor. Vick had wanted him to tell Juliet whatever he had to tell her, and Juliet was regretting more and more that she hadn't just given him the one minute he asked for.

But it was Monday, and she would corner him as soon as she saw him. She would find out.

His car wasn't in his spot. Odd. Her pulse quickened. Lassiter was always here early. Her mind raced with possibilities—doctor appointments?

In the station, she sailed past her own desk toward his, to brazenly check his appointment calendar, and it was slowly registering on her that his desk had been cleared of anything personal (not that there'd ever been much of a personal nature there) when Karen Vick called her name.

With the frown still on her face, she went to Vick, who gestured for her to come into her office.

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X **

Karen told Juliet to have a seat. "I just wanted to give you a status report. This all happened quickly, so I don't think I can get you a new partner until mid-week, maybe next week. Until then, I'd like you to—"

Juliet was staring at her in undisguised confusion. "Wait—_what_? A new partner? What are you talking about?"

Karen's heart sank. "Oh, hell. He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Her face was flushed and her expression was turning to fear. "Is he all right? Where is he?"

"Dammit," she said with feeling. "I'm sorry, O'Hara. Carlton has transferred out of the department. Effective today, he's working over in Ventura."

Juliet's face was blank, and then horrified, and then confused, and then sick. "I don't understand. That's in Ventura County. Is he—is this some task force or special assignment?"

Karen was again at a loss. "No. He transferred there in exchange for one of their people coming here to work Narcotics."

"I don't understand," she said again, her voice rising. "What are you saying to me?"

"I'm saying..." Karen hesitated. "O'Hara, I'm saying he's gone."

**. . . . .**

**O = X = O = X = O = X = O = X**

**. . . . .**

_If you'd like me to continue… speak up!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own psych yadda yadda no copyright infringement yadda yadda.

**Rating**: T.

**Summary**: Takes place in the days after the end of the S6 premiere ~ SPOILER ALERT if you haven't seen the premiere yet, but it should come as no shock to anyone who watched the end of S5 that Lassiter found out about Juliet and Shawn, and in the opener for S6, doesn't handle it well. **CHAPTER TWO.**

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

The radio blared, and distracted Juliet needed a moment to realize the dispatcher was saying _pursuit in progress_... _suspect is armed and dangerous_... _Steven Chandler_... "That's our perp!" she said to Bryan urgently. "Hang on!" She left burnt rubber on the pavement, and Rob Bryan hung on, radioing in their participation as Juliet headed for the pursuit area.

Chandler had robbed ten convenience stores in Santa Barbara County in under two weeks, six of them in Santa Barbara itself. He'd beaten one clerk and vandalized the other places, and Juliet and her partner were tired of being one step behind his drugged-out ways. It sucked playing catch-up to a target who couldn't stay off a substance for more than a day.

They were too late to be in on the collar. Chandler had been pinned at the end of a cul-de-sac, his car smashed up against a dumpster. He was being extricated from the vehicle, but seemed to be alive.

Two police cars from across the county line were there, along with an unmarked cruiser in bad shape, its doors scraped and its windows shot out. A dark-haired man was being treated by the paramedics, there were SBPD cops all over the place, and a trim brunette who looked very aggravated was standing in the middle of it all.

Aggravation usually meant "in charge," so Juliet and Bryan went straight to her. "O'Hara and Bryan, SBPD. You are?"

"Gardner, Ventura PD. My partner and I were in pursuit after Chandler hit a convenience store in Faria." She gestured to the man with the paramedics.

Juliet noted the man's lean frame; he was shirtless and arguing with the guy who was trying to clean the blood off his arm. "Is that from the crash?" Bryan headed away to Chandler's car, where progress was being made on cutting the door.

"No," Gardner said with a certain tone. "Chandler got off a shot—more than one, actually—in Faria. But nothing would do except we had to pursue. He," and she jerked her head toward her partner, "said his arm could wait."

"No offense, but your partner's kind of an idiot." Juliet smiled. "Get him to the hospital. We can take Chandler from here."

"Oh, I _don't_ think we'll be giving Chandler over." Gardner's tone now was mild, but somehow implacable.

Juliet straightened her spine. "Chandler's wanted for ten robberies in this county."

"He's wanted for murder in ours," Gardner shot back. "Take it up with him; he's the lead." She pointed, and Juliet steeled herself to go talk to the man.

He had his back to her, and he must have been getting tired as the adrenaline wore off, because the paramedic was prevailing. He put his hand up to rub his temple as Juliet approached, and thus it was his face was partially shielded when she said, "Detective. I'm—"

He put his hand down immediately and stared at her, those damnably blue eyes fixed on hers like a beacon, pinning her in place, and she lost all ability to breathe or think or speak.

The paramedic looked between them both. "I think I'll take a couple of minutes to get fresh bandages," he said casually, and retreated.

"Carlton," she managed, her heart pounding.

He relaxed, or maybe he was just too tired to put on any kind of show. "Juliet."

She remembered that the last time he'd spoken to her, he called her Juliet. That was four months ago.

For a few more seconds they just stared at each other, and she had no idea what he was thinking about but she was thinking _oh my God I can't believe it's you why did you go what can I do please don't hate me oh God Carlton it's really you_.

Then she remembered his injury, and panic rose even though with her logical brain she knew he was okay. "You were shot."

He gestured to his left arm. "It's fine." Behind him the paramedic shook his head. "It's nothing to go to the hospital about," he said more loudly, and the paramedic muttered that it wasn't up to _him_.

"Carlton, come on. You don't just shake off a bullet wound." Her gaze fell to his chest, streaked a little with blood. She hadn't often seen him sans shirt, and this wasn't the time to dwell on that. He had lost weight he couldn't afford to lose, she noted with detachment. "How are you, really?"

He didn't answer at first, and she watched his face carefully, trying to read him. "I'm functional," he finally said. "You?"

"Equally," she said, but it felt like a lie. "Bryan's not you." She hadn't meant to say that. Bryan was okay; he was steady and dependable, even-tempered and rational. But he wasn't Carlton Lassiter.

"Gardner's not you," he said simply, and her heart ached. "Anyway, there's work to be done. Chandler had an accomplice, and that accomplice has got some of the money."

Juliet took a deep breath. This was a job. This was his job. Focus. "About Chandler. SBPD has a vested interest in containing this guy. He's done a lot of damage and the DA wants him locked up fast."

Lassiter shook his head, which must have hurt, judging by how he put his hand up to his temple again. "He killed a clerk in Faria today. I think our DA will have a vested interest in him too."

"I don't think you can—"

"Never mind, O'Hara," he interrupted. "I'm in no condition to argue right now, and ultimately neither one of us gets a say in the matter." He stood up, as if to walk away, but this was a very bad idea, for he suddenly pitched forward, and that's how it came to pass that Juliet ended up supporting the weight of a half-undressed bleeding man whom she understood now more than ever was someone she could not live without.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

It had been a rough four months.

Lassiter had sucked up every ounce of resistance to the idea of not being in charge when he transferred to Ventura. He knew he couldn't come in to an established crew and act like someone who was used to being the head detective. He had no reason to expect support from his new chief without having earned it, so he toed the line, did as he was told, missed Juliet every moment that he was awake and most of the moments he was asleep, and put in hard work to warrant his place there.

He hadn't called her. He hadn't texted her. He had only once sent any kind of message, and that was during his second week in Ventura, a handwritten note to wish her well and thank her for working with him all those years.

But despite that attempt at closure, his feelings for her hadn't abated.

His partner, Bonnie Gardner, was efficient and tough, with a hard reserve. She didn't want to be friends, as Juliet had; she already knew her path and didn't waste time making nice with anyone. She got the job done, and he respected her, and he was even grateful that she didn't seem to want to ask him anything about himself. Their work together was quiet.

He was in a hospital room, arm securely wrapped, mild concussion from when the car was smashed, and under orders to spend the night. His chief had come and gone, Gardner had come and gone, and the nurses had come and gone. He ached, but not from the injuries. God, Juliet had looked so good. Pure sunshine. And her eyes... if he was an optimistic man, he'd have said she missed him as much as he missed her.

But he knew better: she had Spencer, and she was a social person, nice to everyone, liked by everyone. She wouldn't have had time to miss him. Who would miss him, anyway?

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Juliet paused in the hall outside his room, her heart still pounding. It seemed to have been pounding all day, and even more so since she left Santa Barbara and drove to Ventura to find him in this hospital.

Go in, she told herself. _Go in._ She advanced two feet, tapping on the door frame.

Lassiter was lying in bed, blue eyes closed, but they opened fully when he heard her knock, and he gazed at her, unsmiling. "I'm asleep, right?"

She went closer. "If you are, I am. How are you feeling?"

"I hurt," he said, and that could mean anything. "But I'm okay. Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."

"I'm not here to be nice, if that's what you think."

Lassiter frowned. "Then why are you here?"

She swallowed. "I'm here to beat the crap out of you. I'm here to yell and scream and cry and punch you in the nose for what you did."

He stared. "Ah."

"Ah? That's all you can say?"

"Well, hurry it up already. Visiting hours will be over soon, so you don't have a lot of time."

Juliet, despite herself, laughed. "Dammit, Carlton. Why?" She stepped up to the bed and gripped the rail. "Why did you do this?"

"It was time to move on." He looked stressed. "We both needed it."

"I didn't need it," she protested. "_**I**_ didn't need it at all. I needed _you_. My partner. The same idiot who had the nerve to polygraph me for not telling him about Shawn and then cut me loose without a word."

Lassiter sighed. "O'Hara, this is something you should just leave alone."

Juliet stared at him. "I don't think I can do that. In fact, I know I can't. You need to—"

"I need to what?" he interrupted. "I need to work. I need to get out of this hospital and get back to work, and you need to do the same thing."

"You owe me an explanation." She reached down and put one hand on his good arm, slipping the other down to clasp his hand, holding on tight even after he tried to pull back. "I'm guessing it's not one you want to give, but you owe me. Nearly six years we spent together, Carlton, six years. You don't get to walk away clean."

He gripped her hand hard, his eyes like sky and winter and the blue sea.

"You wanted to tell me," she whispered. "But I didn't think I had time for you." It was something she'd regretted every day since he'd gone. She'd even dreamed about standing in that hall, calling him back, telling him she had a minute, _please tell me what's going on_.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Lassiter felt the warmth of her hand, and saw the look in her eye, and wanted both to tell her everything and send her away at the same time. She had wrung so many secrets out of him over the years; he'd told her so many things he'd never believed he'd tell anyone, and they weren't even deep dark secrets, but merely odds and ends of a life he didn't think anyone particularly cared about, except Juliet, who always seemed interested and always followed up and always made him glad he'd told her, no matter how slight it was.

But how could he tell her this? How could he tell her how he felt? It would make her feel bad about having dragged it out of him. It would make her feel like she had to fix it. Then he'd be both an idiot _and_ a charity case.

He didn't want to hurt her. But he was tired of hurting, too.

"Juliet. Let this go. You have a job and a life and a partner and a boyfriend. Let _me_ go."

She stared at him, eyes glistening, and for a moment he thought she was going to back off. But then she said very quietly, "No."

"O'Hara—"

"I will _not_ let you go," she clarified, her grip on his hand even more fierce. "I care about you too much to let you push me away. You had your four-month vacation from me. That's all you get. I'm going to leave here now and let you rest, but make no mistake. I'll find out where you live, and I will be on your doorstep, or following your car, or flat-out arresting you, if that's what it takes to keep you in my sights until you talk to me. You get it?"

Lassiter was mesmerized; only that word would describe it. "As if I could rest _now_," he managed.

She started to release his hand but he held on, and she leaned in to kiss his forehead, her breath warm on his skin in those few moments. "Carlton," she whispered. "You are _mine_."

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

But he wasn't hers, she reminded herself harshly. She'd left him after that, while he was still staring at her with those eyes, those eyes, _those eyes_, and she'd meant what she said but what _did_ she mean and how could she prove it and what about Shawn?

What was she saying to _herself_, never mind Lassiter?

She wasn't sure. But she knew what she'd told him was true.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

… _more on the way … _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _**psych**_ yadda yadda no copyright infringement yadda yadda.

**Rating**: T.

**Summary**: CHAPTER THREE – conversations galore.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Bonnie Gardner came to pick him up from the hospital the next day. "The chief said to leave your car at the station so you'd have to stay home and rest."

"I don't want to rest. I want to find Chandler's accomplice."

"Yeah, I know. That's why he asked me to give him your car keys, too. You can _try_ fighting crime by taxi, but it's really not going to have the same dramatic effect."

Lassiter had to laugh, which felt kind of nice. He'd been in a state of grave confusion since Juliet's visit, and the sunlight mixed with Gardner's practical demeanor was helping restore what he believed to be sanity.

She got him to his apartment and insisted on accompanying him to the door. "I'm under orders to make sure you have food and water."

"I have food and water," he assured her. "I even have a fresh change of paper for the bottom of my cage."

Now she was amused. 'You're feeling better." She followed him in to the apartment, which was a more colorful, open place than he'd had in Santa Barbara, though it was still largely undecorated. He hadn't worked up the energy. She went on into the kitchen and started opening cupboards, and he couldn't even be annoyed.

He deposited himself into the big blue chair, massaging his arm, and Gardner came out to declare him properly situated re food.

"Before I go back and report to our dad… I mean the chief… you wanna tell me what was going on with that SBPD chick yesterday?"

Lassiter jerked his head around to look at her; her expression was neutral. "Come again?"

Gardner perched on the arm of the sofa. "Was she your old partner?" Her direct gaze was unwavering.

"Yes."

"You had something."

"No. We were just partners."

"Come on, Lassiter. I'm not actually _that_ nosy, and you know I'm not going to spread your business around. You and I are both pretty close-mouthed about our lives, and that's the way I like things. But if you've got some unresolved thing with her that could get in the way of us doing our jobs, then—"

He cut her off. "No. We were _only_ ever partners. She has a boyfriend."

She tilted her dark head and surveyed him. "Hmmm. Well, her body language said a lot more than that. When you passed out she just about freaked. I don't mean she was screaming or anything, but the way she held herself—hell, the way she held _you_—was all about something a lot more complicated than just being partners."

Lassiter, if he had been less of an alpha male, might have admitted to feeling goosebumps at her words. "It's _not_ complicated," he said evenly. "The problem is that I didn't tell her I was leaving Santa Barbara. She's upset about that."

Gardner whistled. "Dude, you ditched her?"

"I…" _I had issues_, he was about to say. "O'Hara is an exceptionally kind-hearted person and I knew she'd take it on herself to try to talk me out of it."

"Uh-huh. How long were you together?"

He gave her a sharp look.

"That is," she said with exaggerated clarity, "how long were you _partners_? At _work_? As _cops_?"

"Funny. It was six years, and look, Gardner, we're out of my comfort zone here. I need you to take my word for it that the reason I left has nothing to do with whether I can still do my job. I've been doing it okay so far, haven't I?"

She grinned, and stood up to leave. "Sure. It's not every day I get assigned to work with a former head detective who gave it all up for mysterious reasons most definitely _not_ associated with his last partner."

He gave her another look which would have withered a lesser woman.

At the door, she paused. "I asked around about you, you know. When I found out we were going to be working together? I wanted to know why you'd transfer to a lower-level position than the one you had. I figured maybe you'd gotten in trouble; screwed up in a big way, or maybe even just pissed off the wrong person. But there's no talk about you. I mean, sure, you're Quick Draw McGraw, and maybe you don't have the lightest touch with people, but I never heard a word to explain why you wanted out of SBPD."

Lassiter stared at her, not sure where this was going.

Gardner opened the door at last. "But if you say it has nothing to do with your very attractive former partner, okay. So be it. It's none of my business, right?"

"Gardner," he said, and sighed. "I swear. There was nothing going on. Ever."

"Hmmm." She studied him for a moment. "Well, I believe that you believe. But I also believe what I saw. Have a nice. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

"Jules, where were you last night?"

She looked up from her desk, startled. "Shawn! Hi. Sorry, I was working."

"Working where? When you didn't answer my texts I called down here and asked for you. They, and you know how accurate _they_ are, said you'd been out all day."

"I _was_ out all day. Bryan and I were tied up with the convenience store robber." She glared at him. "And I did answer your texts. At least the first six."

"There were _nine_, Jules," he said impatiently, as if that made a difference. He handed her one of the two smoothies he'd brought in. "That's okay. I love you anyway. So what took so long with the case? And why wasn't I called in?"

Juliet felt uncharacteristic irritation, in part because she was tired. She hadn't slept much, and Lassiter was in her head even now. "We didn't need you," she said shortly.

Shawn pretended to be wounded, but pulled up a chair anyway. "Tell me. You never know."

_You never do_, she thought. "I saw Carlton yesterday."

His eyebrows went up. "Lassie? Really? Where?"

"He and his partner were in pursuit of our guy and crossed the county line. Carlton was shot," she said, not hearing how breathless it sounded, how her fear when he collapsed had gripped her heart.

"Shot," he repeated. "Is he all right? How is he?"

"He's okay. It was his arm." She glanced at him over the top of her smoothie. "I went to the hospital in Ventura last night to see him."

Shawn took a sip of his own smoothie. "How is he?"

"I just told you. He's—"

"How _is_ he, Jules. I haven't forgotten how shocked you were when he left."

"Neither have I. I'm _still_ shocked."

"And…?"

"And what?" The irritation was back. "I don't know. He wouldn't tell me anything."

"Jerk," he muttered.

"_What_?"

"He's a jerk! He took off without a word, avoids you for four months—he even changed his phone number—and when you finally catch up with him he still stiffs you on the details?"

Juliet stared at him. "How did you know he changed his phone number?"

He was momentarily caught, but rallied, "You're not the only one who might call him, Jules."

"Of the two of _us_?"

"The point is, sure, maybe he lost his phone. Maybe he had a stalker. Maybe he just forgot to give you the new number, which is 555-2263 by the way, or, umm, so the spirits tell me. The point is he abandoned you, and only a jerk would do that to someone as wonderful as my _perfect_ Juliet." This conclusion was delivered with emphasis worthy of the finest of greeting cards.

Juliet counted to three. "Shawn, in the first place, whatever your abilities are, I really don't think any _spirit_ gave you Carlton's new number. In the second place, you need to quit hacking into people's personal information, including Gus's. And mine. It's invasive, illegal, and kind of creepy. In the third place, I have work to do." She stood up, and added defiantly, "And he's not a jerk."

"That would be a fourth place," he countered, looking innocent. "You can't combine having to work and Lassie not being a jerk into the third place. They don't fit. They rhyme, but they don't fit."

"Go, Shawn."

He got up, collecting his smoothie, and leaned in to kiss her unwilling cheek. "I'll see you for dinner? It's chicken tacos night at Franco's."

"I can't." She gathered an armload of folders which didn't need to be taken anywhere, just to have something to hold on to for that one second. "I'm going back to Ventura to see Carlton."

Shawn frowned. "Why?"

_Why? Because I told him I would. Because I want to see him. Because I have to see him. Because I miss him, and not seeing him again is not an option. I __**need**__ to see him_. "Closure," she finally said, the other things not being suitable for public expression.

"Closure," he repeated. "Lotsa luck with that. Want me to come along for moral support?"

That would go over well. "Sure. Can we stop along the way to burn down an orphanage?"

He looked at his smoothie. "That was fair. Okay, just call me when you get back."

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Karen Vick looked over the reports from the Chandler case, and called Juliet O'Hara in for a word. "Close the door," she said matter-of-factly, and didn't miss Juliet's puzzled expression while complying. "Have a seat."

She did so, and Karen thought she looked very tired. She'd looked worn most of the last few months, and Karen knew she'd been pushing herself too hard.

"The preliminary update on Chandler is that Ventura gets to keep him. Murder beats robbery. But we still need to find his accomplice."

"Yes."

"There's just one hitch." Karen eyed her. "I noted in the report that the arresting officer was Ventura PD's own C. Lassiter."

"Yes, Chief." Her voice was very quiet.

Karen sat down, closing the folder. "You talked?"

Juliet shrugged. "Not much. Nothing conclusive, if that's what you mean."

"You and Bryan will have to work with Lassiter and Gardner on this, to share information. Is that a problem?"

Now Juliet looked surprised. "Why would that be a problem? Working together again will be great."

Karen wasn't so sure. "The report says he was shot in the arm. How's he doing?"

"Fine. I guess."

"And how are _you_ doing?" she asked more gently.

Juliet looked directly at her, and for one second, Karen was sure she was about to cry. But instead she tensed and said, "Fine. Thank you."

"Juliet, you haven't been fine for even one minute since he left." When she began to protest, Karen overrode her. "You've done great work and there's nothing I can point to which would back up what I just said. But I know you as well as I know any of my detectives, and remember, I was a detective myself. You've been…" She sighed. "You've been in mourning."

Juliet put her hands to her face, breathing hard, and Karen knew she was fighting tears.

"It's okay. This was a very strange thing, one neither of us saw coming. Partners have a bond which surpasses everything else, and when that bond is broken, it's like a death. Maybe even your own death."

"I've missed him so much," Juliet whispered.

_So have I_, Karen mused. _Probably not in the same way, but so have I_. "I'd like you to take a few days off."

"No. I want to stay on top of this case. Chandler's accomplice has a lot to answer for, and—"

Karen interrupted. "If Lassiter was shot in the arm, he'll be taking a few days off too."

Juliet stared at her.

"So when two people who really need to talk both happen to have days off at the same time, it would be _criminal_ not to take advantage of the opportunity, right?"

"Criminal?" Juliet repeated, her eyes suddenly brighter.

"Criminal. See you Monday, Detective."

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

It was four o'clock when she got to Ventura, and her GPS helped lead her to the address she'd misused police data banks to find for Lassiter's place.

After he left Santa Barbara, she'd found herself driving by his apartment there far too many nights in a row. She never did figure out when exactly he moved, but the landlord finally got tired of her questions and said he'd paid out his lease for its final two months and had returned the keys by mail.

She knew he was unlikely to be at work; if his chief was like her chief, no way would he be allowed back on active duty any time soon. But his car wasn't out front.

Using the number she'd had long before Shawn had given to her, she called him. He had never taken her calls after leaving town, but she had a feeling he would today.

"Lassiter," he said into her ear.

"Hi. It's Juliet. I'm coming up to your apartment if you're home, and if you're not home, I'm going to annoy your neighbors by pounding on the door anyway."

Hesitation. "I'm home. You won't even have to knock."

She didn't; he was leaning in the doorway waiting, looking tired himself, and gestured for her to come in.

The place was airy, but the walls were bare and it felt unlived in. Juliet went straight to the sofa and sat down, composing herself. "So."

Lassiter took the large blue overstuffed chair to her right. "So."

"I told you I was going to haunt you."

He smiled a little. "You did. You have."

That quickened her heart. "I didn't know that. But how could I? The silence was too loud."

The smile was gone. "I'm sorry."

"Really? _Are_ you sorry?" She knew he was, and was sorry she'd said it when he looked away, tense. "Carlton. Give me something."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't do it to hurt you. I did it because I had to."

"You _had_ to leave me wondering what the hell was going on? You _had_ to walk away without even… even a lousy text? Really? You _had_ to do that?" She was angry now, and hurt, and desperate to have him explain this.

Lassiter's eyes were fierce. "I had to do it to avoid this kind of conversation—you trying to fix something which can't be fixed."

"How do you know?" she protested. "How do you know it can't be fixed?"

"God, O'Hara, what do you want from me?" He got up, running his hands through his hair. It was longer now, wavier, and she would have liked to have run her own hands through it, which thought shocked her and yet somehow didn't shock her at all.

"Carlton," she pleaded.

"Can't I have even one secret? You and your curious mind. Spencer and his damned nosy know-it-all in-your-face revelations. Hell, even his dad's got _that_ going on." He paced the room, massaging his arm.

"Look, I—"

"Why are you even here? Why now? It's been four months. Running into me at a crime scene shouldn't have changed anything."

_It changed everything_, she thought. _I saw you and I knew you had to be in my life again_. "It didn't change anything. It just put you in my crosshairs," she said more evenly. "I gave you as much privacy as I could stand to give you, and it's over now."

Lassiter gave her an odd look. "Meaning?"

"I told you last night."

He hesitated. "You made a cryptic statement about me being yours."

Juliet smiled. "I didn't think that was cryptic at all."

"I'm not a stray, O'Hara," he snapped. "You don't have to take me under your wing."

She leapt up and stalked over to where he stood. "You are _nobody's_ stray. I should slap you for saying that."

He retorted, "So slap me. You might feel better. Get this out of your system."

Juliet grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him close. But she didn't slap him.

She kissed him.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _**psych**_ yadda yadda no copyright infringement yadda yadda.

**Rating**: T.

**Summary**: CHAPTER FOUR – workin' it out.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

She was gone. She had kissed him with brief intensity, and then she turned and left the apartment, leaving him stunned, and pretty sure she was stunned, too.

Lassiter locked the door and sank back into the chair, head in hands, heart racing.

This was all supposed to be done. He was supposed to be over her, or nearly over her; he was supposed to have accepted her relationship with Spencer and then forgotten them both. _He was supposed to be over her._

And now she'd gone and kissed him.

Dammit.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

"Shawn," she asked, her feet up on Gus' desk. "Where do you see this going?"

He stopped just before throwing the Nerf ball. "I see myself making a perfect shot, getting a trophy kiss from you, and then doing it all over again."

"I mean us. Where do you see _us_ going?"

He threw the ball, which bounced off the rim and rolled between the filing cabinets. "Manny's for jerk chicken, and then maybe down to the—"

"Shawn," she said more sharply, and he looked at her. "I am talking about our relationship."

He grinned. "Of course you are. Women do that. They randomly bring up an important topic and the man has to try to slide out of it until he can figure out the way she _wants_ the questions answered, which means it's in his best interests to table the discussion indefinitely."

Juliet's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"

He threw himself into his desk chair, which creaked alarmingly. "Okay. Where do I see us going? I see more of the same. We spend our time together, you do the cop thing, I do the psych thing, and we have a great life." He smiled winningly. "Like the life we have now."

"We're sitting in your office waiting for Gus to bring back popsicles."

"We have to find him a girlfriend, that's true," he mused.

She studied him. He was smart and observant and frequently incredibly dense. "Do you know whether I want a house?"

"Sure, because you live in one."

"I _rent_ half a duplex."

"So? It's part of a _house_, not an apartment complex."

"Do you know how I feel about religion? Children? Marriage? What about politics?"

He made a face. "I don't do politics. Those conversations are un-fun."

"Many parts of life are un-fun, Shawn."

"I know. Those are the parts I avoid." He got up again and retrieved the Nerf ball. "A pudding pop says I make the next shot."

Juliet sighed. "You flirted with me for five years. You can tell me a lot of facts about myself, and that's very cool. It really is."

He made the shot, and turned back to face her. "But?"

"But what about the future? Is this what you see for us? Just hanging out?"

"Of course not."

"Then what? What do you want?"

"What do _I _want? I thought this was about what _you_ want."

"No, it's about you not _knowing_ what I want."

He shook his head, exaggeratedly confused. "Jules, what are you asking me? We've been a couple for months. I've been having a fantastic time. I thought you were too."

"I was. I am," she amended, but felt like a coward for doing so. "But I also need to feel like I'm moving forward. You avoid every conversation about the future, but the future is now. I'm not talking about putting every plan into action right this minute. I just want to know what the potential plans might _be_."

Shawn returned to his chair, sighing. She could see he was struggling to not show his frustration. "Jules. I love you. You love me. Do I want a house? No, not really. I like the freedom of being able to walk away from a place and you can't do that with a house. Do I want marriage? I guess. I don't know if the piece of paper—"

"The concept," she interrupted, "not the piece of paper."

He shrugged. "The concept? Sure, fine, whatever; it's cool. Kids? I like kids okay, but I'm more the fun uncle type. My dad and I are both good reasons not to have kids, you know that. Religion, politics, capital punishment—what about them? Those things shouldn't make a relationship succeed or fail. They just _flavor_ it."

She met his gaze, and felt a little hopeless. "But don't you want to know what flavors I like?"

He smiled. "I know all your flavors, Jules. At least the ones that count."

_That count to __**you**_, she thought, as Gus came in with the popsicles.

Now she sat on the edge of her bed, remembering that conversation. It had taken place three weeks earlier, before she knew she'd ever see Lassiter again.

She put her fingers to her mouth and could still feel the kiss, all too brief. She had kissed him because it had, in that moment, been the only thing she wanted to do.

Lassiter knew the answers to the questions she'd asked Shawn. She'd spent more time with him than anyone else in the previous years, and he knew she wanted a house, and kids. He knew she valued marriage and faith and except for politics they agreed on a lot of issues, and sometimes she thought he secretly agreed with her on politics. He listened to her, he challenged her, he argued with her. He remembered what she told him. Granted, he'd been a captive audience for many of their conversations, and he didn't give quite as much back because it wasn't his nature, but as startling a concept as it was, he was her _friend_. They could squabble like siblings and have hotly-worded arguments about how to approach a case or a suspect, but their relationship was solid. It was an anchor.

It was a lifeline.

It was everything.

And she wanted it back, plus more.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

"I'm bringing you lunch," she said after he answered. "Turkey or ham?"

Lassiter let out a breath. "Turkey."

"See you in half an hour." She disconnected.

He rubbed his face. It didn't help calm him. He didn't want her here, but he wanted her here. He wanted to see her, to smell her, to drink her in, and he wanted her to stay as far away as he could keep her.

That one kiss had killed whatever reserves of strength he'd idiotically believed he was building up. Three, maybe four seconds of her lips against his and he was done for.

Maybe he could get a transfer up to Eureka. Hell, why stop there; just go to Canada. Maybe skip up to Alaska and over to Russia. They needed cops in Russia, right? Sure they did.

When she arrived, she smiled, and Lassiter felt weak, and that wasn't going to work at all.

Juliet set up lunch on his kitchen table as if she'd been there a hundred times. Cokes in tall glasses with ice, turkey and tomato on wheat, chips, cookies. She looked cool and collected, her blonde hair pinned back loosely, and he said, "You changed shampoos."

She went pink. "A while ago, yes. I couldn't find the peach anymore. Now I'm using—"

"Something tropical. Gardenias," he murmured, and ate rather than have her look into his eyes and know.

"I miss having lunch with you," she said after a while, breaking a chip into pieces.

He glanced at her, surprised. "In the car, or in restaurants?"

"Both." She smiled again, and oh, he found her enchanting. "You would always relax, even in the middle of a stakeout. And you always remembered what places I liked, and even what I had and if it was any good or not. And even if you were terse with the waitstaff, you'd leave a good tip."

"I hate tipping. The restaurant should pay their staff a decent wage."

"They should, but they don't, and you always tipped well. And you didn't like that I noticed." Her smile was half-teasing now. "But I noticed a lot of things."

He swallowed. She hadn't noticed enough. "How are things at the station? Did Vick make you head detective like she should have?"

Juliet shook her head. "She offered it to me, but I turned it down."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not ready for it."

"The hell you aren't. You're damn good, O'Hara, too good to be anyone's underling anymore."

She went a little pink again. "Thanks. But I'm really not ready for it. I still like being part of the team. I don't want to _run_ the team. Anyway, I still think of it as your job."

He paused, because that touched him. "Well, it's not. Who did she give it to?"

"No one. The position's still open."

"But it's been four months."

Juliet said simply, "I think she's hoping you'll come back."

Lassiter gazed back at her, considering how he was feeling. "I haven't given her any reason to think that."

"Who needs a reason?" She added more Coke to his glass. "That's the thing about hope. It persists."

"It's crazy," he muttered. Hope had been fluttering around him for a couple of days now—stupid, insensitive, mindless hope. It mocked reality, threw rocks at sense, vandalized resolve. "Hope's a bastard," he said out loud.

Juliet laughed. "Yeah, I know."

He set his glass down. "Why are you here, O'Hara? I mean, really. Why? What is it you think you're trying to fix?"

She stared at him, eyes wide. "I told you. I want you to talk to me. And it almost doesn't matter what you say because I am _not_ letting you out of my life again."

He got up abruptly, pacing the room. "That's not a call you get to make. Sometimes one person's needs trump the other's."

She followed him, standing too close. "Tell me what your needs _are_. We'll see if they trump mine."

"I know what yours are," he said bluntly. "You want things to be nice. You want me to tell you everything's okay and let's get back to how we were but it can't be like that anymore, O'Hara. I can't be like that anymore."

"Then I want to know how you _can_ be. How _we_ can be. What we can _have_ if it can't be like before." After a second, she added impatiently, "And I don't even want it to be like before. I want something different now. Something better."

"Like what? We live in different cities. Our lives are separate. You have a place back there, and I'm starting to make one here. Can't you just let it be?" _Can't you stand further back, so I don't have to smell your hair and your skin and see your beautiful eyes and your mouth and fight back this urge to just wrap myself around you?_

"No," she said simply.

"O'Hara," he protested.

"Carlton, just tell me!" She advanced on him, eyes alight. "Tell me why you left. Put it in so many words, so we can deal with it. What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of the truth? Are you afraid of _me_?" She kept on, until she had him backed up against the wall. She was close to a foot shorter, but he felt she was towering over him.

More softly, she asked, "Or are you afraid of _you_? What is it?"

Lassiter felt something snap. He grasped her arms and turned her around rapidly so that now he had her pinned to the wall. "You really want to know what I'm afraid of?" He could smell that tropical paradise in her hair, and the light in her eyes—the fire—was high and bright.

"Yes," she whispered, not struggling, not giving an inch.

"I'm afraid if you don't leave here now, there's no way I won't spend the rest of the day making love to you," he growled, surprising himself because it was true but not what he meant to say, and in the back of his mind he knew _yes, yes, scare her off, make her see this is hopeless and she can't fix it, this is the way,_ and he kissed her hard, tasting her lips fully, knowing he had only a few seconds to memorize this moment until she broke free.

But she didn't even try. Instead, she kissed him back. Just as hard.

His arms found their way around her waist. Hers slid around his neck as she pressed herself to him. Still kissing.

He invaded her warm mouth with his tongue… she invaded his. It was an electric, delicious shock.

And there was hunger in it; it wasn't just Lassiter.

His hands slid up under her blouse, touching bare silky skin; she began to unbutton his shirt, warm sensuous fingertips playing across his chest.

Still kissing, hot and furious.

He cupped her bottom with his hands, lifting her slightly; she wrapped her legs around his, and the kiss raged on.

Lassiter carried her toward the sofa, still half-expecting her to struggle, to come to her senses, to end this crazy thing he'd started.

She didn't come to her senses.

So much kissing. Every kiss a little explosion of wonder.

The moment he finally believed she wasn't going to bolt from his arms was just after her blouse dropped to the floor and her lovely body was revealing itself to him. He touched her skin, and she took his hand and showed him what she wanted.

And that, oddly, was when whatever had snapped before snapped back into place. Reason returned. Somehow, beating back a flood of hormones, sanity returned.

He froze.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Juliet sat in her car, still shaking. She was too far from home, and too far from what she knew and understood.

Lassiter had stopped. She'd felt that what was happening was akin to completing a circuit, making everything crystal clear in the light of his ocean-blue eyes.

But he had stopped.

His voice was husky when he spoke. "I can't do this to you."

She was out of breath, trying to focus on his meaning. Do this to her? Weren't they doing it to each other?

"I can't be the guy you regret compromising your principles for." He rolled off of her, onto the floor, cupping his head in his hands, breathing hard, shutting down.

With difficulty, feeling incredibly weak, Juliet sat up and retrieved her blouse, holding it for a moment, still overwhelmed with her desire for him.

"You wanted it in so many words," he went on, not looking at her. "Here are the words. I left Santa Barbara because of how I felt about you. How I still feel about you. There was no damn way I could explain it, or even look you in the eye. It wasn't going away, and you were with Spencer, and he wasn't going away either, and I took off because that's what I had to do for me."

She was still breathless when she asked, "But what about _my_ feelings?"

Lassiter's dark head stayed down as he answered. "You didn't have any feelings for me, O'Hara. You were happy with what you had and I wasn't going try to confuse you."

"You really have no idea what you're talking about."

Now he looked at her, in disbelief.

She put her blouse back on, buttoning with shaking fingers. "You forget that everyone can keep secrets. Everyone can repress. Everyone can put aside what they know is true because it's hard or it's scary. And being in love with your partner is scary, because it breaks a lot of rules and it's messy and there are consequences."

He'd stared at her, blue eyes searching, and she didn't flinch. "You're not in love with me."

Juliet stood up, finishing up the buttons. "Says you."

Lassiter was surprised again. "What kind of response is that?"

"The best I can do on short notice. _Says you._ If you think I came all the way over here because I'm confused about my feelings, you're an idiot. If you think I was just half-naked on the sofa with you because I'm a little 'mixed up,' you're an even bigger idiot."

"Way to make your point," he said dryly. "Listen. Juliet. You are quite probably the loveliest, nicest person I have ever known. You have a big heart. A wide-open, generous heart. You hate for anyone to be hurting. But the odds of you having lasting feelings for me now that aren't a mix of sympathy and misplaced guilt are pretty low. We were partners for a long time and that clouds issues. I know it. You know it. You should go back to Santa Barbara, make your life with Spencer, and forget everything about the past few days."

She glared at him, and loved him, and he was an idiot. She went to the table and fetched her purse. "_Says you_," she said with finality, and walked out.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE - standard disclaimer, etc.**

**- Rating: M - **

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Lassiter lay on his bed. Night had fallen long ago.

Gardner had called to see if he needed anything, and he'd told her no, because what he needed no one could bring him.

Had he really sent Juliet away? Was she right? Was he an idiot?

The ruthless part of his mind said no. _Don't trust the impulse. Let this train go by_. A warm, lovely, giving person like Juliet was not meant for a man like him. He was too hard, too solitary, too alpha.

But she had been so willing in his arms. She had kissed him with passion and desire and he hadn't imagined that. It was his name she'd sighed when he trailed kisses along her collarbone, undoing her buttons and pressing his lips to her soft skin.

Hormones, he reminded himself harshly. Hormones screwed with thinking, and thinking already affected by emotions was more prone to the manipulations of hormones. She was upset. He was upset. Hell, he was recovering from a gunshot wound.

As if summoned back to the front, his arm began to ache, and he got up to take a painkiller. He hadn't taken many since he'd been home. He'd wanted the pain to distract him from thinking about her.

But now he didn't want to think at all. Sleep. That's what he wanted.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Juliet lay on her bed. Night had fallen long ago.

She had put Shawn off when he called, admitted to having had trouble with Lassiter, and that was the truth. Trouble.

How the hell could she prove her feelings were real?

How much pride did the man have?

Billboard rental. That might do it.

No. She rolled over, restless.

Shawn. Dammit.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

Friday morning, Juliet drove over to Shawn's office. Gus was just on his way in, carrying a couple of brown bags.

"Juliet! Good timing. Shawn asked me to bring lunch and there's plenty extra chicken curry for you."

"But it's only 9:30."

"Shawn says lunch is a concept not bound by time or space. Anyway, I have to get out on my route by 10:15 so this'll be quick. By the time I have my actual lunch hour, he'll be hungry again." He let her go in first, and headed for the kitchenette. "What's going on? Are you here about a case?"

"No, I'm off until Monday. I just needed to talk to Shawn and I didn't see his motorcycle over at his place." _His motorcycle_, she mused. Another thing that hadn't changed.

"You didn't call?"

"His phone must be off again."

"Figures. He's probably on his way over. How come you have time off?"

"Chief's orders." She sat in Shawn's chair while he served up a dish of curry, declining to partake of it herself.

"Did you shoot somebody?" he asked abruptly.

"No. I… I saw Carlton."

Gus's eyebrows shot up, and his expression was one of great curiosity. "And how did that go? Not good, if you have to take time off. You didn't shoot _him_, did you?"

"I didn't shoot anyone. And Carlton would be last on the list of people I'd want to shoot anyway." _There_ was the understatement of the year.

"You'd shoot Shawn before you'd shoot Lassiter?"

Juliet said dryly, "Hell, yeah."

"I hear that," he agreed. "So how is Lassie? I kinda miss him. Your new partner is too low-key, and normally I like low-key people because Shawn's so _un_-low-key, but Bryan's just…"

"Low-key." She got up and strolled around the room. "Thanks for saying that. That you miss him. I appreciate it."

He was amused. "Does anyone else miss him?"

"Actually, you'd be surprised. People ask me about him all the time. He might have stomped on a lot of feelings along the way but everyone always knew where they stood with him. He trusted people to do their jobs and praised them when they did." She felt proud on his behalf. "He has more supporters at the station than he realizes."

Gus smiled broadly. "Don't tell Shawn, but I always liked Lassie. I mean, when he didn't scare the ever-lovin' crap out of me. I never mind a little help getting Shawn to settle down, and Lassie was good at that."

She wondered what Gus would think if she rushed over and hugged him. She wondered what he would think if she told him how good a kisser Lassiter was. She wondered if her mind would stop replaying that little interlude. Fanning herself with a menu from a Thai diner, she opted to say nothing, which is when Shawn came in.

Unfortunately, he also came in just in time to hear Gus say, "So what happened with Lassiter that you had to take time off to get over it?"

Shawn immediately zoomed in on Juliet's face. "Yes, what happened with Lassiter that you had to take time off to get over it, and didn't _tell_ me you were taking time off?"

"It was just a couple of days, Shawn. Vick thought I'd been working too hard."

"I'm gonna go," Gus announced, with only a hint of anxiety in his tone. "Just give me a minute to put my breakfast in a better container."

"Exactly how much time have you _spent_ in Ventura?" Shawn persisted. "Normally I'm all about traveling this great state, but so far as I know, people weren't taking that many trips to Ventura even _before_ Lassiter moved there."

"You know what? I'll just take the bowl it's in," Gus declared, then grabbed his keys, the bowl and spoon and hurried out.

Juliet sighed, feeling pretty damned awful, and sat down again. "I haven't taken that many trips to Ventura. I took him some lunch yesterday. That's all." Technically.

He perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded, and studied her in his 'tell me everything' way. "Jules, what's going on?"

For a few seconds she considered all the things she might say, all the things she shouldn't say, and all the things it would be utterly disastrous to say. And then, after this pause, what she did say was, "I love him."

The fridge cycled off, and the a/c cut out, and outside no cars passed. Finally one bird chirped, while Shawn stared at her and she met his gaze, feeling both terribly sad and honestly relieved.

"No," he finally said. "That's not right. It's not even likely."

"Shawn—"

"Jules, this is crazy. You don't love Lassiter. You care about him, sure, I buy that; you worked with the son of a bitch for six years. But that's not the kind of love you announce to your _boyfriend_."

"Shawn."

"You're not thinking straight. He left you suddenly—I'm guessing it was because he has feelings for _you_—and now that you know about those feelings, you're all shocked and upset and traumatized and confused, but that doesn't make it love!"

"I almost had sex with him yesterday." _Wow_, she thought. _That sounded a lot harsher out loud than it did in my head._

Three seconds of silence. Then, "But see? _Almost_. You stopped it. You knew it wasn't right for you. You knew you shouldn't go through with it, because it wasn't fair to him or you or _to me_. Subconsciously, you knew you didn't_ want _that."

She felt so weary. 9:40 in the morning and it was if she'd been awake for months. "No, Carlton stopped it. He was the strong one. He stopped me from cheating on you."

Shawn was pacing now. "Jules, Jules, what, I'm supposed to thank the guy now? How far did you get? What are we talking about? First base? Second? Tell me you didn't make it to third. Tell me that bastard didn't—"

"Shawn, stop!" She wiped a tear from her face and hugged herself tight. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. Hurting you was not on my agenda. Hurting him wasn't either. I can only tell you what I feel. I love you and I've loved being with you but what I feel for him is different, and I… I have to follow that."

"So what are you saying? You're breaking up with me and moving to Ventura?"

She felt as if he were stabbing her with her own words, and she couldn't even blame him."I'm breaking up with you, but I'm not moving anywhere. Carlton actually agrees with you. How's that for irony? He thinks I don't know what I'm doing, and for all I know he may never talk to me again."

"I can get behind that," he said bitterly. "Ever think he might have stopped the action because he questions _his_ feelings?"

She wiped more tears away. "No. And look, this is not a sequence of events I could ever have predicted or wanted. But Lassiter leaving was like this huge blaring wake-up call, and seeing him this week brought it all home. I'm so sorry. I am. But even if he never lets me talk to him again, there's no way I could lock you into a relationship with me when I finally understand how much I love _him_."

Silence, in the moments before he flung himself into Gus' chair. "Guess it's okay I gave vague answers to those questions a few weeks ago, huh."

Juliet burst into tears.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

There was a sharp rapping at Lassiter's door, and he wasn't sure how, but he knew it wasn't Juliet.

No, it was worse, according to the peephole, and as a bonus, the man in the hall was giving him the finger when he looked through.

He opened the door with a sigh. "Great. It's Old Home week." He let Shawn in, gesturing uninterestedly to the sofa. No point asking how he'd found him.

Shawn remained standing, restless. Angry. "Six months ago you told me you'd shoot me if I hurt Jules."

"That's right." Weary, he sank into his chair. "I meant it, too."

"I know. Polygraph. All that."

Lassiter looked at him. "And?"

"So I'm wondering," he challenged. "Does that go both ways? Do I get to shoot _you_ if _you_ hurt Jules?"

That was fair, he thought. "Look, Spencer, I know you don't have a gun." He kept his voice even. "So you'll have to use one of mine. Help yourself."

Shawn's mouth opened and nothing came out, and for a moment, Lassiter felt an old spark of satisfaction. "I don't get this. You worked together all those years, but you don't move on her until she's mine and you don't even live there anymore?"

"I never moved on her," Lassiter said tightly. "I cleared off. I don't go after other guys' women."

"You cheated on your wife," Shawn shot back.

"I was separated and Lucinda was single. It's not the same. You know it, and you're the one who split that up anyway. What's your plan now? Convince me to break off a relationship I'm not even _having_?"

"She says she loves you, man. She says you almost did the nasty here yesterday."

Lassiter felt himself flush, and he was furious that Shawn would even remotely mock whatever Juliet had seen fit to tell him. He stood up, glad once again that he was tall enough to give Shawn pause when he glared down at him. "Don't you_ dare_ make light of what Juliet is going through. She's confused. I'm sorry. But I'm _not_ taking advantage of that. I didn't ask for it, and I am _not_ in your way. I cleared off," he repeated. "You hear me?"

Shawn backed up a few feet, and Lassiter could see the pain in his eyes. "I hear you. But you don't have to worry about being in my way. She broke up with me this morning." He sat down, looking lost.

Lassiter sat down too, exhausted, arm aching, heart squeezing. "I swear I had nothing to do with that."

"I know."

"Spencer, I'm…" He stopped. "Hell. What can I say?"

Shawn rubbed his face, looking as weary as Lassiter felt. "You can say you won't hurt her." He stood up. "You can also leave a gun in a really obvious place, so that if I ever _do_ have to shoot you, I won't waste valuable time looking for a weapon." He walked out, and left the door standing open.

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**

She knocked on his door about ten. She'd been circling the block for half an hour, tension building. His light was still on.

When he opened the door, she stepped up and kissed him, and he never stood a chance. Maybe she didn't either.

His mouth on hers was searing, but she branded him too. They stumbled back to the sofa they'd started this on, and as he reached up to turn off the lamp, she was tugging at his shirt. She ran her fingers through the soft hair of his lean chest and kissed him, nibbling at his lips, letting him pull her blouse up and off. She was straddling him, moving against his lower half, and Lassiter groaned and shifted underneath her.

There would be more, she thought, breathless, sinking back against him for a deeper kiss.

He unhooked her bra and soon that was off, her warm bare skin against his. His touch on her breasts was so light, so incredibly erotic.

He could have no idea how long she'd wanted this. She barely understood it herself, but now it was happening and there wouldn't be any stopping. She knew it and his breathing suggested he damned well knew it, too.

His hands slid under her jeans, and he pulled her tighter against him, his tongue and hers locked in sensuous battle.

By the time the jeans were off, Juliet could not have told anyone her name.

By the time his were off, she was incapable of speech beyond moans.

By the time it was over, they were on the floor, couch pillows scattered, sofa aghast, the big blue chair in shock and a few of the plants in early bloom. Juliet's heart was singing, and Lassiter surely heard it, because she thought she could hear his heart singing too.

Neither one said a word, because that would have been a waste of energy better spent kissing and touching and re-connecting intimately.

Which happened several more times throughout the night, by the way. Juliet loved exploring his body, having him react to her touch and her mouth and her legs wrapped around him; she loved having his hands move on her skin, his lips skimming all manner of sensitive places that belonged to him now, forevermore.

It was past four a.m. when she knew she'd have to leave.

Lassiter was asleep. They'd finally moved to the bedroom, and she gazed at his dark eyelashes as he slept, wanting to touch him again. And again.

But instead she would leave. She loved him but knew him well enough to know he'd need to think this through, analyze it, pick it apart. She didn't want to be there while that happened, trying to convince him with the same words which hadn't worked before. And she didn't want him overly influenced by post-coital bliss while he analyzed.

She slipped out of bed, gathered her far-reaching clothing from the living room, and left him a note after she'd dressed. All it said was, "_Come see me when you're ready. Love, Juliet._"

**. . . . . .**

**. . . . . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**RATING: M**

(and here it ends)

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Lassiter stood in his kitchen, waiting for coffee, holding Juliet's note.

He still felt absolutely... what was the word... he smiled as it occurred to him: _alive_. His arm was aching and he was exhausted, but he didn't care. He could still feel Juliet all around him, and no matter what happened now, even if the coffee maker exploded and killed him before he'd gotten one sip of caffeine, he was okay.

Ah, Juliet. He leaned against the counter, eyes closed, the note crinkling in his hand. When he opened the door to her, he was already hers (just like she said:_ you are mine_). From the first kiss, there was no going back. He had mastered every inch of her warm and wonderful body, losing himself as she mastered his.

He had no idea when she'd left, but she'd done the right thing. There had been too much thinking in the past week and last night was for action, for completion.

Now he just had to decide whether or not to trust what his heart wanted so desperately to be true.

And that might require the entire pot of coffee.

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Juliet wandered her neighborhood, humming. It was a lovely day and she was still some distance from the water but she could almost hear the sea, and without thinking, she pointed herself in that direction. Her phone was in her skirt pocket, her hair was tied back with a ribbon, and even though she really hadn't slept in four months, and certainly not in the last week, she felt nothing but hope.

Some of that hope was about Shawn, an admittedly selfish hope that he would be okay, that he would meet someone new, someone more like him, someone who could match him and challenge him and keep him happy and maybe even let him stay exactly the way he was. He had been good to her. He deserved more than she'd had to give him, and what she'd told him was true—even if Carlton turned her away forever, how could she tie Shawn to a relationship with someone who couldn't love him fully?

But most of her hope was about Carlton.

Most of her hope was that he would let go of his fears and trust her love, because there was nothing more certain in her mind that they should be together.

She smiled. And she hoped.

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Lassiter looked at the phone. It seemed so easy, this first step. All he had to do was press a few buttons.

_Come on, man. You've brought down gun-wielding maniacs. You've weathered departmental storms, survived attempts on your life and years of longing for something you never thought would happen. You can handle this one little thing_.

He pressed the buttons.

"Lassiter?"

"Gardner," he said, not sounding at all like an idiot. "Who did you say has my car keys?"

She laughed. "I do. But you can't have them. I told you—the _chief_ told you—no chasing after Chandler's accomplice."

For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about. "Oh," he exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "No, it's not about that. I forgot about him."

"Uh-huh. Sure, workaholic."

"Hey, I was shot, remember? I'm not myself. I just need to get to Santa Barbara today."

"Well, how are you going to manage that? I'm pretty sure your doctor doesn't want you driving yet."

"My arm is still attached," he pointed out. "Look, I don't really want to take a taxi all the way over there and I'm nowhere near a bus depot, so the best I can do is ask you to give me a ride to the police station to collect my car. I promise I'm not going after any criminals."

"Then where are you going?"

"I..." Might as well say it. "I need to see O'Hara."

Gardner gave a low whistle. "All right, now we're getting somewhere. You ready? I'll be there in fifteen."

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Juliet stared at the fruit, the kiwi, the grapes, but saw none of it. She hadn't heard from Lassiter yet but it was only mid-morning, and her hope had not faded. She would give him as much time as he needed. Within reason. Then she'd have to go after him, with her gun if necessary.

Turning to the vegetables, she was momentarily distracted by the cucumbers, and turned away with a blush on her face to find Karen Vick standing there with her own grocery cart.

Karen smiled. "Hello, Juliet. You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."

For some reason, that only deepened Juliet's blush. "I _feel_ a lot better, thanks."

"You took advantage of mutual days off and talked, I assume?"

_I took advantage of_ him_, some might say_. "Yes. Thank you. I mean, I _really_ do thank you for making me take the time off."

"It was to my benefit as well," Karen remarked. "Not to pry, but did you get any answers? Or... closure?"

Juliet hesitated. "I hope it's an opening... a _beginning_... rather than an ending."

Karen's smile was slow and sincere. "I hope that too, Juliet."

"Carlton says hope is a bastard."

She laughed. "I can imagine he would. It never gives up, does it?"

"Nope." Her happiness was rising again just thinking of possibilities, and she had no idea how much Karen thought she was glowing right then. "Can I ask you a totally 100% hypothetical question?"

"Yes, but you know how hypothetics go," she warned.

"I know. Here it is. If I—hypothetically—were to, um," and she blushed, "get _involved_ with Carlton, and if, hypothetically, he wanted to come back to Santa Barbara—and I have no idea if he does, hypothetically or otherwise—but _if_ he did, and _if_ you—hypothetically—were to give him his old job back, which I know might not even be up to you, but again, this is hypothetical, would..." She stopped. It seemed so naive now.

Karen was smiling. "Go on."

"Would you let us be partners again?" She felt ridiculous. "Hypothetically?"

Laughing, Karen moved her cart out of the way and came to hug Juliet. "Detective O'Hara, I can assure you that in the event of all those hypothetical events coming to pass, and in the further hypothetical event that I could be sure I would never be given a reason to regret the decision, yes. I would. Hypothetically." She smiled at Juliet. "I'm supposed to be detached and professional, but we're off duty and on neutral ground so I'm going to break a rule of my own right now and tell you that I hope everything works out. You and Carlton are an unlikely but somehow... _perfect_ fit. You've been good for each other, and seeing you now, looking the happiest you have in months, makes me hope for you that your _beginning_ is just that, and leads you both to a very good place."

Juliet sniffled as she hugged her back.

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Lassiter slid into Gardner's car almost before she'd come to a stop.

"Hey there," she said, amused. "You're in no hurry, I see."

He gave her a grin. "Nope. Got my keys?"

She held them up, and when he reached for them, snatched them back. "Nice hickey," she said smoothly.

Lassiter immediately tugged at his collar, and she laughed. "Could just be a leftover bruise from smashing the car up."

"Yeahhhh sure it could." She pulled out into traffic, still laughing. "I guess O'Hara forgave you for ditching her. I _knew_ I read that right."

"There was nothing going on," he said emphatically. "I had no idea she... I never dreamed..." he trailed off, not sure how lame he would sound.

"That she'd want to leave love bites all over your body?"

"Gardner, enough," he protested, but he was smiling and she saw it. "Don't get cocky. It could all be nothing."

"Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore. I just never thought there was a reason to hope for anything. I'm not exactly the most trusting guy around."

"I noticed that," she said dryly. "So is your plan to throw yourself at her feet?"

He gave her a sharp look.

"Because I'm thinking that'll probably work." When he smiled despite himself, she added, "Remember, I pegged her as goner from the start. What, I can't have a romantic side?"

Lassiter laughed. "You're not helping."

"I don't want to help," she said cheerfully. "Not if you're going to talk yourself out of something really good. I mean, I haven't known you very long and I don't know her at all, but I saw the way she looked at you. And by the way, I saw how you looked at _her_, too. Didn't tell you that before because I know a man likes his dignity. And his hickey," she threw in, ducking his mock slap. "But I know this," she concluded as she turned into the police station parking lot and cruised over to his car. She faced him, and her smile was genuine. "I'm going to miss you when you go back home. Partner."

Lassiter was stunned. And stunning himself even more, he reached over and pulled her into a hug, which she returned. "Thanks, Gardner. I still don't know whether you'll have to miss me, but thanks for saying it."

"I'm hardly ever wrong," she promised. "Now go get her."

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Gus wasn't late. She'd called him on impulse, asking him to come to the little park near her house. He sat beside her on the bench facing the duck pond.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Juliet." He was solemn. "You're a nice person. A good person. You wouldn't deliberately hurt anyone. Shawn knows that."

"I hope he does." Time would tell. "The thing is, being a good person who doesn't want to hurt anyone doesn't mean I never get to put my own needs first. Sometimes I get to be selfish." She gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry you're caught up in this. I'm glad he has a friend like you."

"_You're_ my friend, too. Don't forget that." He looked troubled. "Are you sure about this? Not about breaking up with Shawn. I know you wouldn't have done that if it weren't the right thing for you. But are you sure about Lassiter? How he left, that was hard. Maybe—"

"Gus, please don't ask me if I'm confused. I'm not confused. I know not everyone can see what I see in Carlton, just like not everyone could understand what I saw in Shawn. Friends of mine actually pulled me aside last year to ask if I knew what I was doing."

"You know that's right," he muttered. "I kinda wanted to ask you that myself."

She grinned. "Well, I defended him, because I knew he was a really good guy who cared about me. And if necessary, I'll defend Carlton, too."

"Hey, you don't have to tell _me_ Lassie's a good man. I know that. He's rough around the edges and no one's ever gonna mistake him for a teddy bear—unless it's a steel-plated bear filled with nitro or something—but anyone who gets to know him can see what he's made of. If you love him, you love him."

"I do," she agreed, smiling. "I wish I'd given into that a long time ago so I wouldn't have to hurt Shawn now, but you know what they say about hindsight."

"Yeah, it kicks you in the hind _end_. Is Lassiter coming back to Santa Barbara?"

Juliet shrugged. "I have no idea. At the moment I really don't know what he's going to do about anything. I'm just… hoping."

"Hope's good," he said. "I'll hope for you. You both deserve to be happy."

"Thank you, Gus." She hugged him. "Will Shawn still work with the police now that I've stomped on his heart?"

He smiled. "You didn't stomp, and yeah, I think he will. This is the longest he's stayed with anything. He's good at it and he needs it. Maybe don't call on us for a little bit, though." He raised one eyebrow.

"You know that's right," she agreed.

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

Lassiter sat on the wrought-iron bench on Juliet's front porch, as relaxed as he could be given his feeling of terror. He was having trouble with the idea that he'd driven all the way over here to have this conversation with the woman he loved, knowing it could all come crashing down at any moment.

Lost in this haze of doom, he didn't see her coming up the sidewalk, and when he did, he was rooted to the bench.

The sun was in her hair, and her light long dress flowed around her legs. She smiled at him, and he thought her blue eyes were incredible and wonderful and… everything. Just everything.

She slowly came up the steps. "Hey," she said faintly.

"Hey." His voice was faint too.

She came closer slowly, as if fearing he might bolt. "May I?" she whispered, leaning down, all tropical paradise and golden skin… and love in her eyes.

"Yes, please," he whispered back, and kissed her willing mouth, slipping his hand into her hair as it tumbled from the ribbon's grasp. It was a sweet kiss, intimate and perfect. "You are the most beautiful woman who ever walked the earth," he murmured. "No matter what else happens, that will always be true."

She blinked back tears, and stepped back only long enough to invite him inside.

Lassiter started talking as soon as the door was closed, a half-rehearsed, half-unfocused speech about uncertainties and unpredictabilities and the job and the past and the future, and Juliet watched him, possibly listening; he couldn't tell because he himself had no idea what he was saying; most likely she merely thought he'd lost his mind.

He paused to get his bearings, taking a seat on her sofa, and in the middle of a sentence about how he needed her to be completely sure of what she wanted, she simply straddled his lap and kissed him, probably to shut him up. Which worked.

Yeah, she seemed pretty damn sure. And so were his hands, which slid up under her gauzy skirt while she kissed the mark she'd left on his neck last night. Her mouth was lush and sensuous and he could die now, he really could.

"Dammit," he groaned, and then shut up again as she moved in his lap, tormenting him. He couldn't help it; his hands were under her panties now, on her skin, and they kissed as if it had been years instead of hours since they'd last connected.

She breathlessly directed him to the bedroom, and he carried her there, her legs wrapped around his hips, and in short order, with no protests from either side, clothing ceased to be an impediment and they made love with the same relentless passion which had carried them through the night. Grinding together, coming together, being _together_.

And then silence, except for ragged breathing.

Juliet trailed her fingertips across his collarbone to the soft fur of his chest, and he shivered. "I only heard part of what you were saying earlier," she confessed. "But I got the gist of it."

He rolled onto his side and scooped her closer. "What did I say?"

"You said you're a practical guy who likes things black and white. You like facts and guarantees and sure things."

Lassiter smiled. "I don't think that's what I said. I think I babbled a lot more than that."

"No, really, this'll be good. Stay with me," she urged, and he laughed. "You have an analytical mind and you know how to choose the best options in a crisis. First rule, you figure out which aspects of a situation are beyond your control. Like you're not going to be able to get that plane for the guy who holds hostages, and you can't get through that steel door with a butter knife. You have to come up with plans which encompass the things you can't change."

"With you so far." He moved against her, loving how her silky warm body felt against his.

"You should be. I heard you were once a pretty sharp detective."

"Yeah, yeah, go on," he murmured, grazing her shoulder with his lips, slipping his hand under the sheet to caress her breast.

"To make _this_ decision, you have to..." she paused to shiver, "factor in that I love you."

His hand stopped moving.

Her voice got quieter. "That means you only have two options where I'm concerned, because no matter how much you fight this, _you_ can't change how _I _feel." She looked at him, half-smiling, and he felt perfectly still. "Would you like to hear the two options?"

"Yes," he breathed, afraid to move at all.

"Well, the first option, which is _my_ preference, is for you to _accept_ that I love you and want you, and then tell me you love me back, and let us get on with our life together."

He felt a smile building.

"The second option is pretty easy too. For that, you only have to wait patiently."

"Wait?" he repeated, puzzled.

"Patiently," she reiterated. "You simply wait to see if I change my mind."

Lassiter frowned. "Come again?"

"And _while_ you're waiting," she went on calmly, "I'll marry you, make a life with you, have your children. We'll work together, or not. We'll squabble, we'll bicker, we'll make love at every opportunity. We'll grow old together while you simply, and patiently, wait to see if I change my mind." She touched his face gently. "And who knows? In sixty, seventy years, I might say, damn, Carly, you were right! Turns out I _was_ only confused all this time. Oops!"

Lassiter laughed, burying his head against her soft shoulder. He felt so free now, like everything was possible.

"Now make your choice, Detective," she said smartly, poking him in the ribs. "I told you already you're mine, and there is _no_ scenario where you don't end up spending your life with me."

He lifted his head and said without reservation, "I choose it all, Juliet. I love you. I've loved you so damned long."

She threw herself against him, kissing him over and over, sighing, and he kissed her back, unable to stop for quite awhile. "You sure?" she managed, breathless. "You're not, I don't know, _confused_?"

He squeezed her, half-growling. "I'm not confused. And no one who heard all that would think you were confused either."

"Well, I wish I'd said it a few days ago, then. Sheesh." She collapsed into happy laughter when he squeezed her again. "Just one more question."

"Yes, I'll marry you."

"Well, duh," she said exaggeratedly. "That wasn't it. The question is, will you come back home?"

Lassiter smiled. "You think Vick has a job for me?"

"I have it on good _hypothetical_ authority that she does."

"She's not confused either?"

"Nope." She undulated against him, and for a moment he forgot how to talk.

But then he remembered what else had happened this week, and held her still. "You and Spencer… he came to see me yesterday afternoon. He said you broke it off with him."

A shadow crossed her face for a moment. "Yes. I would have had to, even if you hadn't come to your senses. What did he say?"

"He threatened to shoot me. But that was fair. I didn't take any offense; I offered to loan him one of my guns."

"That's not funny," she admonished.

"I wasn't laughing." He folded her more tightly into his arms. "I'm sorry. I know the last thing you would ever have wanted was to hurt him."

"Or you," she whispered. "I'm so sorry about the wasted time."

"We'll make it up." He kissed her. "We'll make it up."

**. . . .**

**. . . .**

In the end, Lassiter chose option one, with all the benefits of option two.

With Karen Vick's blessing, he transferred back to the SBPD and resumed his duties as head detective. In that capacity, he saw to it that Psych was hired as needed, assigned other detectives to work with them more often, and in time was content to have Juliet get back some of her original friendship with Shawn, who in his own way remained irrepressible, and certainly inimitable.

Lassiter and Juliet made a life together, quiet and rich with love, where no one was confused, and hope thrived.

_Hope_, incidentally, would have made a lovely name for their first child, except that Juliet always dissolved into giggles thinking about Lassiter's terse "Hope's a bastard," from that long-ago conversation. So they made it her middle name, and pledged never to reveal to anyone why they'd chosen it.

And thus they _all_ thrived… and you know what? They even went so far as to live happily ever after.

**. . . . ****T H E . . . .**

****. . . . **E N D . . . .**


End file.
